


'Till I Break

by pandoras_chaos



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (kind of), Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Fluff, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandoras_chaos/pseuds/pandoras_chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you, you know,” John mumbles, sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness again. </p>
<p>“Mmm, I know,” Sherlock murmurs back and John can’t help but grin, squeezing Sherlock closer and allowing his fingers to card gently through Sherlock’s tangled curls. Sherlock practically purrs and melts into him, tucking his face into John’s neck and exhaling slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till I Break

**Author's Note:**

> I'm halfway through writing two very heavy, angsty fics at the moment and decided a bit of fluffy porn was needed in my life. This was the result.  
> Unbeta-ed and utterly raw, so any mistakes are all me. 
> 
> Title borrowed from the magnificent Elbow.

**‘Till I Break**

John wakes slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of early morning as awareness bleeds into his consciousness. The bed beneath him is warm and comfortable and he can feel the gentle stretch of muscles well-used from last night’s rather rough enthusiasm. He smiles at the ceiling, hearing the distinct sounds of even breathing next to him and rolls over to stare at Sherlock’s sleeping form. His hair is a mass of wild curls, fanned out across the pillow like a dark smudge, his back raising and falling rhythmically with each deeply indrawn breath. He is gloriously naked and pale in the dim light, and John feels the warm curl of affection blossom tightly just behind his ribs.

One of John’s arms is trapped beneath a sharply defined cheekbone, and he can feel the gentle brush of Sherlock’s lips against his skin as he exhales. John grins and rolls forward to slide his other arm softly around Sherlock’s waist, drawing him closer to his chest with a contented sigh.

Sherlock stirs and shuffles backwards into the embrace, his long limbs stretching and unfolding until he is pressed as closely to John as it is possible to be. John smiles into the soft skin at the back of Sherlock’s neck and breathes in the warm, familiar scent of him: sleep and tobacco and a hint of overpriced aftershave.

“Mmm,” Sherlock murmurs, his voice deep and rough from dream and John opens his mouth to lick across the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “Morning,” Sherlock rumbles, and John can hear the smile in his tone.

“Good morning,” John whispers into pale skin, sliding his hand up the center of Sherlock’s chest and drawing him in impossibly further. John can feel his half-hard erection press between Sherlock’s buttocks and he can tell Sherlock feels it too as he arches his back and pushes himself firmly into John’s groin.

John moans and shifts his hips more, allowing his cock to slide into the damp furrow between Sherlock’s legs. He can feel the sparse hair on the underside of Sherlock’s bollocks brush against his foreskin, the sensation entirely maddening and ridiculously erotic. Sherlock groans and pushes back, his legs falling open a little to accommodate John’s rapidly hardening penis. John rolls his hips a little and revels in the slide, the residual glide of last night’s lubricant making things hot and slick.

Sherlock bows backwards, pressing his arse against John’s cock and the sheer heat of it is nearly enough to make John come, but he is still half-asleep and languid, and all he can feel is a slowly building pressure. The quiet calm of the morning light is making everything warm and comfortable, Sherlock’s skin unbelievably soft as John brushes his lips along his spine.

“John,” Sherlock purrs and John smiles into Sherlock’s shoulder blade. There’s a gentleness to his tone in the early hours of morning that John absolutely loves; it’s the warmth and contentment of slow comfortability and John basks in it now, knowing that the stress of the day will wear it down into Sherlock’s usual sharp abrasiveness. But here, like this, John sees Sherlock for what he really is: all soft edges and vulnerability, and the thought bursts tenderly through his chest.

Sherlock’s hips are twitching now; slow circles that have him steadily grinding backwards as if in unconscious temptation. John slides his hand down Sherlock’s abdomen, through the trail of dark hair beneath his navel, and wraps his fingers around the stiff shaft of Sherlock’s cock. It is hot and hard, and John can feel the sticky evidence of last night still clinging to the damp curls at the base. Sherlock moans and pushes his hips forward, rocking into John’s hand in slow, languid strokes.

John’s cock twitches at the sound and he nudges his hips forward, rubbing the head of his prick through the crease of Sherlock’s arse. He’s half expecting Sherlock to tell him he’s too sore, that after last night, it will be a few days of oral sex and mutual wanking before he can take John again, but Sherlock merely sighs and presses backwards.

“Yes, John,” he murmurs, back arching and John’s hand tightens around his cock. “ _Please_ ,” Sherlock adds and John cannot help but lean into that heat. He feels the tip of his cock catch along the still-slick rim of Sherlock’s anus and pushes himself carefully forward. Sherlock’s body yields immediately, his muscles opening for John’s cock and John feels his entire world narrow down into incredibly intense pleasure.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John breathes, barely daring to move, but Sherlock twists backwards, greedy and wanting, and John feels swallowed up in sensation. He’s hot and tight, and John cannot help the way his lurches forward, burying himself to the hilt in Sherlock’s slick passage. Sherlock groans and rocks his hips, pushing his cock through the tight sheath of John’s fist before impaling himself backwards, and John can barely breathe. He presses his lips to the skin beneath his mouth and feels Sherlock’s breath catch.

“I love you,” John sighs across pale skin and Sherlock moans again, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own orgasm. John feels oddly discontent. Everything is moving so quickly, the slow gentleness of the morning dissipating rapidly into frantic rutting. He pulls his hands away and stills Sherlock’s hips, ignoring his whine of displeasure at the movement.

“Shh,” John whispers instead, still buried deep within that tight heat. Carefully, he pulls back until only the very tip of his cock is resting just inside Sherlock’s body. Sherlock gasps, but doesn’t move, allowing John to slow the pace. John sways gently forward, feeling the give as Sherlock’s muscles relax, every single nerve tingling as he sinks deeper and deeper into his lover.

“God, I love you,” John says again, and Sherlock whimpers, clearly holding himself still by sheer force of will.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock groans, his hips stuttering for a moment before he controls himself again. John smiles and finally relents; pushing back in with a shuddering sigh and Sherlock simply melts back into him. John thrusts slowly a few more times before stilling again and Sherlock groans in apparent frustration. John smirks at Sherlock’s predictable impatience, but he pulls out slowly, rolling Sherlock onto his back before settling between his thighs.

John leans in and presses his mouth to Sherlock’s, sighing in contentment when Sherlock’s lips fall immediately open, his tongue sweeping through John’s mouth with such clear sensuality, John feels his toes curl into the bed sheets. John swallows against the sour taste of sleep, deepening the kiss as he rolls his hips again in a lazy circle, his breath catching as Sherlock arcs against him instinctively.

Sherlock is positively gorgeous like this: sleep-mussed and soft, all his harsh angularity smoothed into gentle curves and as John stares, Sherlock’s eyelashes sweep open to reveal dazzlingly bright eyes. He smiles slowly up at John, raising his arms up over his head and pushing against the headboard, arching backwards into a deep stretch that seems to elongate him even farther across the mattress. He collapses back against the bed with a satisfied hum and gazes up at John through his lashes.

John is abruptly aware that he’s been staring dumbfounded for the past few minutes and feels his cheeks heat absurdly. Sherlock just grins up at him and licks his lower lip before catching it between his teeth.

“Now then,” he purrs, sliding his foot up the back of John’s calf in a move that should absolutely not derail John’s thought processors as effectively as it does. “Where were we?”

Christ, his voice is like spiced honey and melted chocolate and John falls forward into it like a drowning man. John slides his mouth up Sherlock’s throat, biting gently at the hinge of his jaw and grinning when Sherlock’s breath catches. He curls his spine forward and feels his cock slide into the crease of Sherlock’s groin, all slick heat and heady resistance and they both groan at the contact. Sherlock’s long hands skim up John’s spine, tripping lightly over vertebrae and ribs until he sinks his fingers into John’s hair and pulls his mouth down into a kiss laced with barely banked passion and longing.

John moans against his tongue, his body rocking forward of its own volition, until Sherlock shifts a little and suddenly his cock is pressing hotly against Sherlock’s, the friction amazing, but not nearly enough. Sherlock’s fingers tighten before he releases John’s hair, instead sweeping his hands down John’s back to grip at his arse, pulling him in with force, but still maintaining the deliberately slow pace.

Sherlock’s head falls back with a moan and John smiles softly, trailing his tongue down that long, elegant neck until he reaches the sharp indent of collarbone. He brushes his lips there once before sinking his teeth into the hard resistance, feeling the thick swell of pride as Sherlock groans loudly and thrusts up against John’s hips, the tip of his erection suddenly slick and warm with pre-come.

“Jesus, John,” Sherlock breathes, and his eyes are all pupil as he blinks up into John’s face. He looks positively wrecked, and John feels his heart clench tightly in his chest, unable to believe he’s actually allowed to do this: to take Sherlock apart and hold him close until all the shattered pieces of their souls are irrevocably entwined. “ _Fuck_ me,” Sherlock intones, all gravel and heat and John is lost.

John tips his hips back, his cock dragging across Sherlock’s bollocks until it drops heavily between his legs, jumping at the contact as the tip pushes against the stretched skin of Sherlock’s perineum. John pauses there for a moment, basking in the anticipation, in the incredible feeling of Sherlock beneath him and around him before Sherlock cants his hips up impatiently and John feels his prick catch on the loosened rim of Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock sighs in pleasure as John eases his way in again, swallowed into that contracting heat until his balls bump heavily into the lush swell of Sherlock’s arse.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sherlock says, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile as he allows his spine to melt backwards against the mattress. John can feel the pressure mounting, his own orgasm a slow burn at the base of his abdomen, but he is snug and content now to draw it out; cocooned and cozy in Sherlock’s bed in the early hours of morning.

John draws back slowly, the sensation extraordinary as his cock catches and drags along the slick heat of Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock smirks beneath him and intentionally clenches down, and John feels pleasure careen through him: sudden and unexpectedly intense.

“Fuck,” John gasps, his hips instinctively snapping forward, and Sherlock’s gaze sharpens before his head falls back on a drawn out moan. They’re moving together now, all rolling hips and sweat-slick skin, and John marvels at the fact that this is his life now: adrenaline-fuelled nights and wild, desperate passion followed by lazy mornings filled with quiet adoration and worshipful exploration. It seems fitting somehow, and John leans in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock smiles against him and turns his head to smear their lips together, dragging one long hand down John’s shoulder to his wrist, catching his palm and twining their fingers together against the sheets. It’s by far the most sentimental thing John has ever seen him do, and something warm and dangerous seems to expand beneath John’s solar plexus.

John feels his own breath catch, Sherlock’s hips tilting at just the right angle and John can actually feel when the head of his cock drags across Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock’s back bows suddenly forward and his hands clench tightly, a long, low groan rumbling up through his chest and seeming to vibrate all the way down John’s spine. John widens his knees and tilts his thighs forward, trying to maintain the angle as Sherlock thrashes beneath him; all of his usual grace and coordination failing as pleasure and sensation begin to take over. This is John’s favorite part: watching Sherlock simply fall to pieces beneath him as all of his considerable focus narrows down to simply _John_. It is heady and addictive, and John leans in for more; bracing their joined hands into the pillows above Sherlock’s head and sliding his other palm down to grip Sherlock’s hip tightly.

Sherlock’s body undulates forward and his muscles contract, and John gasps as Sherlock’s arse clamps down around his cock, his own pleasure momentarily forgotten in the face of Sherlock’s magnificent response. John sucks in a deep breath, willing himself back from the edge of bliss. Sherlock is bucking against him now, the sheets falling from John’s shoulders to tangle around his waist as he pushes roughly into that tight heat.

“John, please,” Sherlock breathes, his elegant neck stretching backwards as John thrusts in a little faster, still reluctant to break the fragile peace that surrounds them. Sherlock groans again and his legs begin to shake, overworked muscles starting to protest at the prolonged tension. John lets go of Sherlock’s hip to slide his hand down Sherlock’s thigh, nudging and tugging until he gets a bony knee up over his shoulder, allowing him to lean in and push _deeper_.

“ _God_ , yes. That’s—John,” Sherlock says, voice halting and stuttering as pleasure overtakes him. John leans down farther and plants his mouth on Sherlock’s neck, tongue resting over the fluttering pulse just beneath the long expanse of pale skin. The change in angle is practically perfect, and John can feel the slick head of Sherlock’s cock smear across his abdomen, trapped between them as John rocks himself harder into Sherlock’s willing body.

“Oh,” Sherlock says; one tiny syllable, barely even a word and suddenly he’s there, arching back against the mattress, all of his muscles clamping tightly down around John’s cock as he comes. John eases him through it, feeling each pulse of ejaculate as it spreads between them, bellies suddenly slick and hot, making everything infinitely brighter and more intense. Sherlock is shaking; fine tremors rushing through his skin as his body overrides his brilliant mind for one beautiful moment.

John watches him relax, his own arousal nearly forgotten as he feels himself drowning in love and affection. Sherlock blinks hazily up at him a moment later, a slow, private smile stretching his plush lips. He reaches up and traces John’s eyebrow with his thumb, running the pad of it down the line of his cheekbone and to his mouth, pressing delicately against his lips before falling back into the pillows with a contented sigh.

“You didn’t come,” he says softly, brow beginning to furrow as reasoning creeps back in.

“No,” John whispers back, unable to help himself as he leans in to nuzzle the slight stubble below Sherlock’s jaw.

“Do you want to?” Sherlock asks carefully, as though he’s actually afraid he’s being a selfish lover. John grins into his throat and hums.

“Eventually.”

“Mmm,” is the sleepy response. John can feel Sherlock slipping back into peaceful lethargy, and he circles his hips once just to watch Sherlock’s eyes fly open in shock. He can’t help the chuckle that spills up through his mouth at the sight, and laughs even harder as Sherlock narrows his eyes at him.

He has one second of warning before Sherlock moves, quicker than John would ever have thought, and he finds himself flat on his back, staring up at his infuriatingly smug lover. Sherlock smirks down at him and leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of John’s shoulders to loom closer. He brings their lips close, millimeters apart and breathes. John holds himself remarkably still, arousal flaring hot and hard up the back of his spine.

“How long do you think you can last, John?” Sherlock asks, his breath ghosting across John’s lips even as he lowers his body, knees straddling John’s thighs just low enough to avoid touching John’s cock. John whimpers, and grabs at Sherlock’s hips, trying to pull him in, to rub himself against any bit of warm flesh he can, but Sherlock just chuckles darkly and pulls himself away.

“Stay exactly like that,” Sherlock murmurs, all heat and promise, and John finds himself stilling against the mattress without conscious effort. Sherlock grins at him again and climbs off, sliding gracefully from the bed and padding—a little less gracefully—towards the bathroom. John can feel his heart rate slowing, his arousal calming a little as he registers the sound of the taps being tampered with. Sherlock returns a moment later with a damp flannel, smirking as he rubs it hastily over John’s erection. John can practically taste the scent of the soap and he arches into the feeling of the harsh fabric rubbing over his tender flesh, but Sherlock rubs him down with clinical detachment, cleaning him off thoroughly before dropping the soiled cloth to the floor and climbing back on top of John.

“You never answered my question,” Sherlock purrs, sliding down John’s body with clear purpose, and John finds himself unable to answer as sheer _want_ flashes through his system like a thunderclap. John has a split second of realization before Sherlock’s mouth closes around the tip of his cock, wicked tongue flicking against his frenulum. John gasps and tries to keep his hips still, but Sherlock is sucking and moaning and John can feel his control shattering around the weight of his impending orgasm.

He chances a glance downwards and nearly loses himself at the sight of Sherlock’s full lips, contorted and flushed, wrapped tightly around his cock as he sucks hard. Clear grey eyes flick up to meet John’s and the heat of his gaze has John writhing, perched just on the precipice of oblivion when Sherlock pulls off again.

“ _Christ_ ,” John whines, fisting his hands into the sheets on either side of his hips to stop himself from reaching forward and burying his fingers in Sherlock’s curls; his orgasm so close he can _taste_ it. Sherlock smirks again and reaches over to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer and plucking out the mostly used bottle of lubricant. John groans and spreads his knees wider, pulling his feet free of the sheets as Sherlock shuffles around obligingly and settles himself between John’s legs instead.

Sherlock squeezes a fat dollop of the clear gel onto his palm and slicks two of his fingers, and John is just about to shout at him to _get on with it already_ when Sherlock swallows his cock right down to the base. John cries out, and immediately clamps one hand across his face, mindful of the time and Mrs Hudson’s sleeping habits. Sherlock hums and the sensation shoots right through to John’s balls. He can feel his orgasm coiling tightly at the base of his spine, heat licking up his thighs as Sherlock hallows his cheeks and _sucks_.

John writhes and squirms, finding his fingers tangled through Sherlock’s hair despite his best efforts. Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind, as he carries on bobbing his head, and then John feels slick pressure circling firmly against the taut skin of his perineum, and he is lost. One of Sherlock’s long fingers inches back until it is pressing insistently at John’s anus, and John gasps, teetering on the very brink of coming, but Sherlock suddenly pulls away again.

“That’s two,” Sherlock says, and his voice is husky and shaking.

“Oh my _god_ ,” John groans. He can feel every single inch where their skin touches throb with sensation. He feels like his entire body is on fire, skin flushed and over sensitive as he pulls back from the edge. Sherlock is watching him carefully, gauging his reactions and when John finally focuses enough to blink hazily up at him, Sherlock pushes his finger all the way in to the knuckle. John’s head falls back to the mattress with a muffled thud and he hears himself moan as though from far away. Sherlock holds him there, suspended on his single finger for what seems like a decade before he twists his wrist and pushes back in, unerringly finding John’s prostate. John shouts aloud and arches forward, every single nerve tingling from overuse, his whole body throbbing with the need to come.

“Please,” he sobs, tightening his fingers in Sherlock’s hair to the point where it’s probably painful, but Sherlock finally, _finally_ relents and licks a single stripe from the base of his bollocks up to John’s slit before sliding his mouth all the way down the shaft and swallowing. John is vaguely aware of the slight burn as Sherlock adds a second finger, of the way his body seems to be swelling and cresting with each pull of Sherlock’s magnificent mouth over his prick, of the intense desire to be _owned_ and _consumed_ by this man, but all he can do is pant and gasp, hovering just out of reach of endless bliss.

Sherlock hums again and swirls his tongue around the foreskin, flicking his eyes up to catch on John’s for a half second and in that moment John sees all the overwhelming love and desire between them and he shouts Sherlock’s name as he comes. His whole body seems to tighten up and clench down as wave after wave of semen erupts out of him and into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock swallows reflexively and continues to suck, edging his fingertips around John’s prostate and earning another almost painfully intense wave of come to wrench itself free. It seems to go on and on, John’s entire body wracking with shuddering sensation until it is finally too much and he pushes gently on Sherlock’s head to get him to stop.

Sherlock pulls off with an undignified slurp, keeping his fingers pressed gently inside John’s body as he slowly comes down from his endorphin rush. John feels decidedly boneless; his limbs like melting jelly as he sinks back against the damp sheets. Sherlock is smiling fondly at him, licking obscenely at the edge of his lips where a bit of John’s semen has dribbled out. It’s probably the most erotic thing John has ever seen and he musters up enough coordination to tug Sherlock forward into him, wincing a little as Sherlock’s fingers slip unceremoniously out of his arse with a wet squelch.

“Sorry,” Sherlock breathes, but John just silences him with his tongue, licking into Sherlock’s mouth and chasing the flavor of his own come across his soft palette. Sherlock hums happily and sinks fully down onto John. He should be heavy, but John can’t be bothered; not now that he’s warm and satiated, lolling against the bed and stretching is overworked muscles lightly.

The kiss slows naturally, finally ending with just a tender slide of lips as they both relax against the sheets. Sherlock is half-hard again, but he doesn’t seem to mind, simply slotting his body naturally into the spaces John leaves for him and curling long limbs around John’s ribs. John smiles into the top of Sherlock’s hair, breathing in the scent of them and revelling in the blissful feeling of sated satisfaction.

“I love you, you know,” John mumbles, sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness again.

“Mmm, I know,” Sherlock murmurs back and John can’t help but grin, squeezing Sherlock closer and allowing his fingers to card gently through Sherlock’s tangled curls. Sherlock practically purrs and melts into him, tucking his face into John’s neck and exhaling slowly.

“What time is it?” John asks, his voice breaking on a wide yawn as his eyes flutter closed, losing the battle against gravity.

“Early,” Sherlock replies, and John can feel his breath evening out into something resembling normal.

“Wake me up in a few hours?” John yawns again, and he’s nearly drifted off again when he finally hears Sherlock respond: “Promise.”

John smiles and slips quietly into sleep.

 

 

  
  
_But the sickener hits, I could work ‘till I break_   
_But I love the bones of you, that I can never escape_   
_And it’s you and it’s May, and we’re sleeping through the day_   
_And I’m five years ago, and three thousand miles away_   
_And I can’t move my arm, for fear that you will wake_   
_And I’m five years ago, and three thousand miles away_   
_~The Bones of You, Elbow_


End file.
